


Soledad

by whopackedthese



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221b, Fluff, Gentle, Love, M/M, Music, Opening Up, Sherstrade, Spanish, True Love, fireside, first I love you, violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:38:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7957168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whopackedthese/pseuds/whopackedthese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>'And, I am sure that I do, in fact, share feelings of the same magnitude...for you.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soledad

**Author's Note:**

> Soledad is pronounced so-le-DAHD. It is Spanish and is translated into meaning "Solitude". It is taken from the title for the Virgin Mary, or María de Soledad (Mary of Solitude).

Greg was enthralled and he stood with his back resting against the column of the archway that divided the kitchen and living room, keeping his chocolate brown eyes wide and fixed entirely on Sherlock. The lithe man’s own eyes were closed, their supernova beauty was hidden beneath long lashes in extreme focus, and his head was tilted to the left as it rested on the violin. Beautifully sad music filled the space, dimly lit by the open fire that warmed the entire flat, and Greg was carried away by each melodramatic note. Sherlock’s body moved slowly with the sound, his hips shifting as his arm did with the bow, sweeping across the strings and pulling the echoing melody out with a quiver of his fingers. Greg was sure that there was nothing like this in the world, that he did not see Sherlock so focused and unwavering as when he was in this state, so utterly absorbed by the presence of sound, fixated solely on _creating_ that sound. 

Greg could not prevent the smile that played softly on his lips; drawing them across his cheeks, as complete contentment flooded his entire body. They had not told one another yet that they loved on another, but Greg was sure that the heat that filled his heart tonight was entirely produced by that elusive feeling. He was almost sad when Sherlock drew back the bow and eased the violin away from that delicate crook in his shoulder, exhaling with his own degree of contentment. 

'Lovely,' Greg whispered and his voice, although obscured by love if it were to be properly analysed, sounded sleepy. Sherlock laid his violin back into its worn case on the table and used both hands to gently press the bow into place before he offered Greg his attention. He gave a moderately embarrassed smile and nodded his head. 'What's it called?' Greg asked him, walking toward him to bridge the distance that standing so far seemed to put up emotionally as well as physically. 

'I don't know,' Sherlock frowned at him in consideration, 'I've never really thought to name it.' 

'Not even for yourself, so you know what it is you're playing?' Greg asked, tilting his head slightly as he flicked his eyes across the younger man's smooth face. 

'I call it...,' Sherlock began but stopped short of finishing his line. 

Greg crooked his eyebrows, 'You call it what?' he asked him. 'Go on,' he urged, 'Tell me.' Sherlock shook his head and Greg found the abashed blush that coloured his pale, angular cheeks pink to be as sexually appealing as it was lovingly endearing. Greg moved his head, making Sherlock make eye contact with him, and asked again. 'Tell me, if you think I'm going to laugh or tease, then take this as a promise that I won't. I want to know.'

Sherlock took a measured breath through his nose and nodded solidly. 'I call it Soledad,' Sherlock explained, 'It means solitude.'

Greg smiled softly at him, his lips tugging slightly at the corners. 'Beautiful,' he said, 'But sad.' 

'I began composing it initially when my brother left for university. Contrary to our current default modes toward one another, we used to share a more close bond and a more unique relationship. As a child, in his absence, I missed that.' Sherlock opened up. 

Greg swallowed over a lump forming in his throat, 'I can tell.' Sherlock's oceanic eyes travelled across the Detective Inspector's face for mocking. He found none. Greg reached out to Sherlock, taking the younger man first by the wrist as he pulled him toward him then by both hands. His brown eyes were alight, shining in the fire's amber glow, and they wandered over every inch of Sherlock's face as their bodies got closer. 'I love it,' he said quietly, watching Sherlock's eyes for his honest reaction. 'And I love you.' 

Sherlock blinked quickly, his blue eyes darkening to slate as his pupils grew impossibly wide. 'I know,' he said quietly, though Greg could still hear the hoarseness that came to Sherlock's voice when emotions or arousal were taking over. Greg suspected that both were to blame at this point. 'And, I am sure that I do, in fact, share feelings of the same magnitude...for you.' 

Greg's lips parted as an unstoppable smile pulled his cheeks high beneath his eyes and his white teeth were forced into complete exposure. 'I know,' he managed, even as he fought to gain control over his wide grin. He leant in further and pushed his forehead to Sherlock's. 'I'll kiss you when I can stop smiling,' he promised and Sherlock nodded slowly against his forehead.


End file.
